The View from Amtrak #718

Leaving the train in Emeryville, CA, the train feels like it will not only be pleasant, but, provide the opportunity to read, take a nap, listen to music, eat something--and see life along the backside of Hwy. 99-- stopping in Richmond, Martinez, Antioch, Stockton, Modesto, Merced, Madera, then into Fresno. The train moves slowly most of the time, but, not slow enough to really examine the landscape, to see signs or buildings or landmarks closely. What you do see is lots of houses--rows and rows of developments, and you see the backyards of these houses. First, the architecture is nothing to brag about--it's stucco and wood in it's worst light. Since most of the houses that abut to the train tracks are on the lower end of the income scale, then, what the traveler gets to see is really some of the worst effects of bad planning, bad economic policy, bad architecture, bad landscaping, and generally a rather "bad" way to live your life. I lost count of the number of homes that were boarded up--with lawns un-mowed, weeds grown up against the houses. Pools left to breed mosquitoes and drownings, and houses that looked welcoming to crackwhores and dealers.
I thought about "environmental justice." What justice is there for the people who live near the train tracks? Is it the last resort of affordable housing? Since I am within easy ear-shot of the trains, including the train I'm on--then,is there a way to think about the houses near train tracks that illuminates any social significance? Which came first, the trains or the poverty? Did the neighborhoods once have hope before the train tracks (and freeways) were built? Did wealthier, more educated people band together to keep the tracks far from their homes and neighborhoods, or, did it just happen this way? I have no memory of train tracks in my neighborhood growing up, nor in any neighborhood I've lived in since--until Fresno, where it seems that train tracks and trains are unavoidable.
Looking out from my upper window--I could see kids playing in the grassless yards-- swinging on WalMart swing sets, making kid play noises against the rattle and hum of the train-- and I saw them smile and laugh when the train whistle blew. We were Thomas, and we were the Engine that could. On the train were people who were refugees from gas prices, savvy travelers, and we were families going to see grandmothers and sailors leaving for the Gulf.
We rode THROUGH the lives of these train-track denizens--and, I thought about the conversations that the parents in these houses have with their kids. "Don't play chicken with the train." "Get away from the tracks." "Don't leave anything ON the tracks." I thought of the times I've placed my ear to a train track in SC, and how I"ve walked on the tracks in SC, GA, TX and CA.
I know the sound of trains--from my bedroom, I can tell if the train is going north of south. I know the difference in a train whistle, being freight or Amtrak. I dream of taking long, cross country train rides and waking in posh sleeping cars to coffee in china cups. I have boarded trains in China, France, Papua New Guinea, Germany, Holland, Australia and Ireland. I like the pace and the view of the train. I like to hear the porter call "all aboard." I like the connection that the tracks make with the dirt.
All this: but, still I have never had my heart broken for the people who must live near the tracks--or those who did live near the tracks, who lost their home to the bank, or Countrywide, or some unsrupulous lender who tricked them into easy home-ownership.
This train will take me home, so, as I look out my train window, I wonder where those people will go, when they can no longer call these track-tract homes--home.